Isn't It Ironic?
by TheRedJennys
Summary: Wynn, a deaf Redguard, has a soft spot for children, which sparks a series of event leading her to joining the Dark Brotherhood. No one there seems to think she belongs there, save for the Imperial jester who firmly believes she is the Listener, despite the fact that she hasn't heard a sound in almost 10 years, and that voice was probably just her going crazy at the silence, right?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, I'm The Red Jennys and I recently created (another) save file for Skyrim, and I absolutely adore my new character, Wynn, and I revisited my past love of TES after hanging out in the Dragon Age fandom for a while. Anyway, I want to see how this fanfiction goes a bit, having never written a TES fanfiction before (I want to write a Champion of Cyrodiil/Martin Septim one eventually) so, I'd appreciate your feedback, and I'm already working on the second chapter.**

Wynn has a soft spot for children, somewhere in her heart, and a kind of patience for them that no other can get from her. Therefore, when a child, hungry and cold, was _pleading_ for her to kill, how could she shake her head at him? She watched his lips form the words over and over again for her to kill, _please_ kill Grelod the Kind, and gave him a soft smile, hoping her willingness to help him conveyed in her smile.

She tried to remember that pleading look when she was running for her life from the Riften guards.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, wishing to the Gods that they lost track of her, so she could get back to Windhelm. The little boy was waiting for her. The sun had moved a bit in the sky when she finally decided she was safe, cursing her lack of hearing, which would have been very helpful in avoiding the guards, and detecting the presence of the woman behind her when she let the arrow fly at Grelod.

Thinking of all the ways that that assassination could've gone better, she trekked back to Windhelm, ready to drop by the time she passed through the gates. Nevertheless, she made her way to Aventus Aretino's house, eager to tell him the news of his abuser's death.

The boy was over the moons with joy, wrapping his frail arms around her in a surprisingly strong hug. She couldn't see his mouth, but she could only imagine the boy was thanking her repeatedly. He pulled away, his eyes watering as he produced a silver plate from seemingly nowhere, and held it out to her.

The family heirloom wasn't worth much, only about 100 septims, but she desperately needed the money, and sold it to the pawn shop just a little ways away from Aventus's house, before heading to the inn. Tomorrow, she planned on heading to Whiterun.

* * *

The trip to Whiterun was fairly uneventful, a few wolves here, a couple of bandits there. Some might say a woman like her should never travel alone, as it was too easy for someone to get the jump on her, but Wynn had been traveling all across Skyrim for as long as she could remember, and knew better than to let her guard down, and was quite capable of handling herself. Though sometimes she wondered if she needed to invest in one of those dogs the stable hand at Markarth always went on about, in an attempt to get rid of his own dog, but she wasn't very good with animals.

When the sun was directly overhead at its zenith, she saw in the distance a courier, traveling at a brisk pace directly towards her. When he saw her, he started sprinting, probably desperate to deliver the message so he can return home.

"You are Wynn, correct?" He huffed, out of breath. The woman nodded and held out her hand expectantly, where a slip of parchment was shoved unceremoniously into it. She looked curiously at him, raising an eyebrow with an unspoken question, but he only shrugged.

"Some man in a hood asked me to give this to you." Was the only hint he gave before jogging off in the direction he game. Confused, Wynn opened the sealed parchment, where a large black hand was imprinted on it, with the words "We Know" delicately penned beneath it.

Wynn felt her heart beat frantically, and a cold sweat broke out along her brow. They knew. Who knew? What did they know? About the murder? They can't have known it was her, she wore a hood, and a mask. How did they know her name? Thousands more questions rolled through her mind as she attempted to get a hold on her initial panic. Gritting her teeth, she started towards Whiterun once more, eager to reach there by nightfall and have a nice glass of mead.

By midafternoon, it seems as though the Gods had other plans. The attacks increased, and Wynn couldn't help but wonder if every wolf in all of Skyrim decided that she, for one reason or another, would make a very tasty snack. Then, when the attacks finally decreased in frequency, she stumbled across a horse, a broken cart, and a very short, very _angry_ imperial man dressed in a jester's motley.

She slowed when she saw him, ranting angrily to no one in particular. She knew in her mind that she should lower her head and keep walking, but another forced cooed at her to stay and help the poor man. She watched his mouth as she neared, but the man's lips were moving a thousand miles a second, and she couldn't decipher his words.

The jester saw her as she came closer, and delight flashed on his face as he bounded up to her. He said something, but Wynn stared at him blankly, offering him a soft apologetic smile. He didn't notice the expression, supposedly, and continued talking, his facial expressions varying from pride to anger to sadness, and he used to hands quite a lot. Occasionally, he'd point at the farm up on the hilltop, or the broken wagon wheel, and at one point, he held up a bag of coins, causing the redguard woman to perk up.

Still confused, but needing the money, she nodded at the imperial before heading up to the farm, where a man was tending to his garden. When he saw her coming, he leaned against the hoe and sighed, exasperated.

"Let me guess, the jester sent you up here to convince me to fix his wheel?" The farmer's face turned angry, but Wynn was happy that he spoke at a normal speed, and she finally understood what the imperial wanted her to do. She nodded at the man's question. The man's face twisted and he began going on about contraband and war weapons and the jester's sanity, but a pretty Altmer came along and placed a golden hand on his shoulder, casting him a kind look when he turned to her. The farmer sighed and turned to face the redguard again.

"I have to protect my wife." The hand on his shoulder squeezed, hard, causing him the wince. "But I suppose if his wheel was fixed, he'd leave sooner." The woman, who Wynn could only assume was his wife, gave him an approving smile, before turning and winking at her. "Tell Cicero that I'll be down in a minute with my tools, and apologize to him for me."

Wynn walked away, pleased. She didn't even have to do a thing, and she was going to get coin for it. Maybe she should help out imperials dressed as jesters more often. Cicero was quite happy to see her descending the hill, fidgeting in his place as he awaited her answer. The big smile she gave him said enough, and he started doing a little jig that had the redguard bracing herself against her knees as she laughed, before a bag of money was flashed in front of her face.

"-as Cicero promised! Shiny, clink-y, coin!" She noticed that now that he less excitable, he talked just slow enough for her to read his lips, and was surprised to find him referring to himself in third person. _That_ might be why the farmer was unwilling to help the imperial, because his speech made him sound mad, even in her head when she tried to imagine his voice. Nevertheless, she accepted his coin, nodding a 'thank you' at the strange man before departing, Whiterun being just up the road, and it was almost night fall.

* * *

Somewhere in one of the dark corners of Skyrim, a small group of people sat gathered around a small table, face lit only by the sole candle in the middle. One figure stood, automatically silencing the others.

"She would be a great addition." The figure spoke with a silky yet firm voice. Murmurs erupted from around the table, but one stood out, speaking directly to the one standing.

"She's deaf, she can't hear. She'll die within the first few days, if not the first assignment."

"Have a little faith, Nazir. The woman made it this far. She'll be fine."

"She was _chased_ by _guards_ , Astrid." A smaller, child-like voice added.

"It was her first assassination." Astrid snapped back. "Yes, she should've been more careful, but for her first murder it was quite finely executed."

Nazir snorted at the pun, but he was the only one. The others considered what Astrid said, knowing that they've all had similar experiences. Finally, the child-like voice spoke up again.

"You're the leader, Astrid. Your word is law. If you think this girl would be a valuable asset to the Dark Brotherhood, then we have no choice but to obey and welcome her into our arms, no matter how long we think she'll last, no matter what's wrong with her, and no matter her past."

The rest of the occupants muttered their agreements, some hesitantly, some whole-heartedly, but they all knew that Astrid was going to seek this woman out, whether or not they agreed anyway. Astrid's dark eyes surveyed the group, before her lips twisted into an almost cat-like grin.

"Good, I'm glad we can all agree."

 **I'm not actually deaf, but I have a friend who is? Yeah, but i personally have no experience, I just know that she can read lips really well and I went with that. I picked the title after Bo Burnham's "Ironic" because Bo Burnham is great, but I'm always open to suggestions. R &R! Stuff like follows and favorites and comment urging me to write more ****_actually_** **work on me.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the reviews, and follows, and favorites! Here's the second chapter.**

Whiterun's inn was rather cozy, what with a huge fire in the middle and friendly barmaids, even the beds were quite comfortable. However, with Wynn's disability, it was quite difficult to socialize. Most people, upon realizing she was deaf, chose to ignore her, turning instead to company that would actually speak to them.

And that's how the redguard girl was all alone in a room full of people. At least she was warm, with a cup of some half-decent nord mead, and a bed to look forward to for the night. Well, so she thought.

"There are no rooms." The owner told her, looking as though she were shouting, although she didn't really need to. Wynn worriedly flipped to the next clean page from her book and wrote 'why?'.

"There's a lot of visitors. I'm sorry." And with that, she walked away, tending to another customer. Wynn worried her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering where on Nirn she could sleep for tonight. She DID have a sleeping pack, but she'd rather not use it unless she had to.

She went to the _other_ inn, one closer to the entrance, called "The Drunken Huntsmen", but it was full as well. Tired and road-weary, she began searching for a clear, out of sight area to sleep by the walls of the city, and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

She awoke slowly, with a massive headache and blurry vision. As her vision cleared she saw she was not where she fell asleep, but rather in what looked to be an abandoned house. A foot lazily kicking caught her attention and she turned, finally noticing a woman perched on top of an empty bookshelf, watching her.

When Wynn's attention finally settled on her, the woman pulled down the hood she was wearing, as well as the mask, which caught Wynn by surprise. She knew about Wynn.

"Sleep well?" Astrid enunciated clearly, not entirely sure how well the other woman could read lips. The redguard stiffened, hands reaching towards her back, but her ever-present bow had been removed. Astrid could see the questions flashing through Wynn's mind, and it caused her to smirk a little.

"You wonder where you are." Astrid stated, voicing the other's thoughts that she herself could not say. "But really, does it matter? You are warm, dry, and still very much alive. The same can't be said for old Grelod, can it?"

If she was stiff before, Wynn was a rock at this point, having hoped to forget the events of just a few days ago. Her first assassination, and all because a child asked her to. Pitiful.

But the woman wasn't angry, no, in fact, she looked rather amused watching Wynn fidget under her knowing gaze.

"It's a kill you stole, and a kill you must repay." She motioned to three captives on the other side of the room that Wynn was certain weren't there just a minute ago. "One of these is a contract for the Dark Brotherhood. It's your job to figure out which one and kill them."

Wynn, scared out of her wits, nodded hesitantly, and the mysterious nord woman handed her bow and quiver back to her. Wynn managed to keep herself composed as the stepped forward, in front of the captives, who were bound, wearing execution hoods. She may be deaf, but she wasn't stupid, and she knew that they were all under contract, otherwise they wouldn't even be here.

She aimed for the Khajiit first, the arrow thumping into his skull. Her second murder. The woman was next. Third. And lastly, the man. He was the fourth, and as much as she hated to admit, this senseless murder felt good, and the post-kill exhilaration she normally felt after taking down bandits coursed its way through her veins. Her father would be disgusted with her, but she didn't care anymore.

Turning back to Astrid, she wore a crazed smile she didn't realize she was capable of producing, and the other woman smirked. She knew she would make an excellent addition to the Dark Brotherhood.

"Why all three?" Astrid asked curiously. The smile faded from the redguard's face and she shrugged. "Well, you have repaid us in full, and can leave if you'd like. However, I'd like to extend an invitation to join the Dark Brotherhood. Should you agree, we can be found in the woods outside of Falkreath." With that, she pushed herself off of her perch and handed Wynn the key and a note containing the password before disappearing through the door.

Wynn left the shack in a great haste, desperate to place as much distance between herself and the dead bodies as she can. Sure, she enjoyed it, but she couldn't imagine doing it for a living. She would take time to think about this.

* * *

Four weeks later, Wynn finally found the secret door, having been searching in the woods south of Falkreath for two weeks, only to frustratingly see it was right under her nose the entire time. The large skull impressed in the door sent chills down her spine, and she knew that to enter she'd have to speak the pass phrase written. Her silver eyes swept over the words slowly, her tongue trying to find the correct purchases. She hasn't spoken since a bit after the incident, when a woman pointed out that she sounded strange, because her ears couldn't detect the tone any longer.

She spoke the words slowly, hoping that she said them in a comprehensible way. A moment passed, and she tried the words again, and to her joy, the door swung open slowly, and she checked the area around her before slipping into the dark cave, the creepy door shutting behind her.

Her eyes adjusted slowly, and carefully stepped down the steps into a better-lit area, a familiar woman leaning against a wall, as though she expected her. Astrid's lips curled when she saw Wynn, having expected the woman sometime this week. The redguard approached shyly, not quite knowing what to do, but felt relief when Astrid held out a suit of dark leather armor, welcoming her "home."

A speech and a half later, she was finally pointed downstairs, where a group of assassins crowded together, talking and laughing among themselves. She couldn't help but to feel left out already, the closeness of the group seemingly attempting to push her out, as though she didn't belong.

A Breton child stood in the center, recalling some story, but the Redguard woman was too busy focusing on her razor-sharp fangs to see what she was saying. The Breton noticed she was staring, and flashed her a grin, causing a shiver to creep down her spine.

She backed away, and moments later, the group dispersed, presumably to head back to their usual haunts. A Redguard man hung back, and approached her when everyone left.

"You must be the new recruit." He didn't seemed pleased to have her here, Wynn noticed as she nodded.

"I'm Nazir, welcome to the Dark Brotherhood. Here are your assignments. " Three slips of parchment were shoved into her arms, but she was so surprised she missed what he said next, so she pretended it was words of encouragement. He explained about each assignment, and sent her on her way.

* * *

Narfi was an easy kill, him being asleep by the time she got to Ivarstead, and with a dagger to the jugular, he quickly died, gargling and choking on his own blood. She watched with morbid curiosity as the blood ran down the side of his neck onto the bedroll, staining the cream-colored furs a deep red.

Beitild was a bit harder to kill, her being in the presence of other people almost constantly. Finally the woman went into the mine she was so proud of, unaware of the presence following her until her guts spilled out across the ground of the mine. Wynn didn't stay for this one, she wanted to get out immediately, not wanting to be in the area when her body was found.

Ennodius Papius noticed her coming up the road, his mouth moving frantically, perhaps begging for his life. She lined up her sights as the paranoid man turned to run, the arrow striking his temple, rendering him dead immediately.

When she returned to the Sanctuary (after having gotten lost again in the Falkreath woods), there once again was a crowd in the main section, although this time around a familiar-looking imperial jester and a large box. Cicero saw her and excitedly bounded up to her, chattering excitedly. She only got a few words, but could tell he was rather happy to see her there, expressing his surprise to see she was a fellow Dark Sister. His lips stopped moving, and when she met his eyes, she realized he was waiting on an answer to a question she didn't catch and couldn't answer. She smiled apologetically at him, and nodded, hoping what he asked what a yes or no question, and she didn't just agree to something she'd regret.

This seemed to be the right move, as the imperial grinned and started rattling off again, turning to face the giant box, not realizing that he was talking to himself at this point. Astrid approached her, saving her from the jester.

"I've got a contract for you," She told Wynn. "A woman in Markarth has summoned the Dark Brotherhood. You are to go to Markarth, go to the inn, The Hag's Cure, and speak to a woman named Muiri. Since it is your first time, I'll allow you to keep the payment. She will pay well, they always do." She handed her a note, the instructions on it in case she was confused on something, and with a nod to Astrid and a wave to Cicero, she exited the Sanctuary.

 **Don't forget to R &R! I did this chapter over a couple of days so sorry if the tone changes a bit throughout.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry it might be really crappy, I was super tired and grumpy and not feeling good typing it, but I'll wait til I feel more into it to type the next chapter. Thanks for reading!**_

* * *

Cicero watched as the Redguard woman spoke to the Pretender. Well, not spoke. Listened, he supposed. She didn't say anything. She had never said anything, and that irritated him. She was quite peculiar, although when he asked her if she remembered humble Cicero she smiled and nodded at him, which made him happy, oh yes, but he had a feeling she didn't actually know what he was saying. The silence was quite maddening.

No one seemed to want to talk to him, much less listen to him. The only one who seemed to be fine with him was the unchild, Babette. Naturally, the first thing he asked about was the one who didn't speak.

"Astrid thought she seemed capable, so here she is." Babette answered curtly. Cicero sighed, exasperated.

"That is not what Cicero asked the kind Babette. He asked why she refuses to talk to anyone. She would not even tell poor Cicero her name."

"Cicero, she's deaf,"

"No, no, she looked quite alive to me."

"Not dead. _Deaf._ She can't hear. And her name is Wynn."

" _Oh._ Cicero supposes that makes sense. She can't hear. Never heard of an assassin who couldn't hear." He mumbled to himself, finally exiting the room in thought.

* * *

Wynn returned roughly a week later (she only looked for the entrance for 20 minutes this time), and immediately searched for Astrid, who was in her office.

"Is it done?" She asked, her lips quirking up when she nodded. "Good. I thought you should know that Cicero has been asking around about you. Nosy, isn't he?"

Wynn's eyebrow raised in surprise at this, although, she mused, she should've expected the jester to do something similar to this, as he surely noticed her disability by now.

"On the matter of Cicero," Astrid continued, "I suspect treachery. He's made a habit of locking himself in the Night Mother's room and conspiring with someone. I need you to find out who."

How in the hell did Astrid expect her to do that? Cicero was perceptive, so hiding would be very hard. The only hiding spot was the Night Mother's coffin, but then she wouldn't be able to see what was going on. Unless?

Wynn pressed her face against the keyhole, attempting to see into the coffin. She took out her new lock picking set and picked the surprisingly easy lock. You'd think with Cicero the lock would be harder, but no, it was too easy. Quietly, she opened the door, and looked through the lock again with the light. She could just barely see through it, but if she angled her body right, she would probably be able to see most of the room. As the climbed and positioned herself in the coffin, she wondered briefly is this was considered some form of heresy, but the shadow coming into the room vanished all thoughts as she quickly and quietly shut the coffin, peeking through the lock as the imperial jester walked into the room.

He locked the door and pocketed the key, and Wynn realized with agonizing frustration that she could only see below his neck. So now she was stuck, and there was no way she was going to get information, although she could check for another person in the room.

She watched as Cicero's motley paced around the room, his hands flinging animatedly around, but she never saw a second part. Suddenly, a strange warmth surrounded her, almost like a limbless hug, if that makes any sense. It was comforting, but at the same time sent a harsh chill down her spine.

"Dear Cicero, such a humble servant,"

Wynn was lucky she felt paralyzed in that moment, or she may have jumped out of that coffin and screamed. She heard a voice, but not with her useless ears. It spoke into her mind, like a thought process, but the thought was not hers. It was a strained hiss, yet gentle and mother-like.

"But he will never hear my voice, for he is not," dramatic pause, "the Listener."

' _How can I hear you?'_ Wynn spoke to the voice in her mind.

"Because I chose you, child. You who shares my iron tomb, and warms my ancient bones. You are my Listener, and you will carry out my will."

' _But no one would believe me. They would claim that one who cannot hear can't possibly be the Listener.'_

"The Listener need not hear, as long as they hear my voice. Journey to Volunruud, speak to Amaund Motierre."

Wynn reflected on these words as a brief moment of silence passed, and she was quite glad she was facing away from the body, otherwise she'd probably be more freaked out. Another heartbeat passed before the voice spoke up again.

"Tell Cicero the words he's been waiting to hear all these years. 'Darkness rises when Silence dies."

As the warmth and the voice faded from her mind, the doors to the coffin pulled open and Wynn was quite literally pulled away from her Mother. The jester's face showed a wide range of emotions, the most obvious were blinding rage and utter betrayal.

"What? What…Treachery! Defiler! Defacer and defiler!" He practically screamed at her as he unsheathed the ebony dagger strapped to his hip. "You have ruined the sanctity of the Night Mother's coffin!"

All other words were lost as he lunged at her, his lips moving rapidly but in her panic, she was understandably unable to decipher them. She had to say the words, before the seasoned assassin murdered her. Suddenly she stopped and placed her hands up, like she would if she were surrendering to an arrest. This had the desired effect, as Cicero stopped his attack if only for a moment.

She slowly turned to face him, trembling and hoping this works. She looked in straight in the eye and said the words the Night Mother had recited to her.

Except, judging by Cicero's face, it didn't come out right. She tried again, nothing. She tried one more time, trying out each word, one at a time, and mentally praising herself when Cicero's face dropped out of the tight, angered one into a slack jawed surprise. Surprise from what, she didn't know. That she had spoken? That she said those words to him? Both?

"She said those words? To you?" He asked incredulously, receiving a frantic nod in response. "Darkness rises when silence dies? But those are the words, the Binding words, written in the Keeping Tomes. A signal so I would know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero!"


End file.
